


My Heart and Soul are Yours

by Xyriath



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: M/M, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-26
Updated: 2016-07-26
Packaged: 2018-07-26 23:27:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7594552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xyriath/pseuds/Xyriath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world where soulmates can feel the other's pain, being Edward Elric's comes with a whole host of problems.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Heart and Soul are Yours

**Author's Note:**

> HAPPY ROYED WEEK, AAAA
> 
> Prompts: "Soulmates" and "The scene where Ed gets impaled."

Being Edward Elric’s soulmate has never been easy.

Roy Mustang is sure that Ed would complain the same about him, if he had a name to match with the sensations, but for now, Roy merely listens with amusement to Ed’s outrage at the “inconsiderate goddamn bastard—girls can be bastards too, just sayin’—who keeps goin’ and getting themselves—whatever the fuck it is—!”

He never seems to take it well when Roy points out that Ed’s poor soulmate must have it much worse, what with how often Ed is getting into fights, and how he bumps his head on the tops of doorways so often—oh, wait, that can’t be right…

All joking aside, however, Roy holds it close to him, that he knows what it’s like—to lose an arm, to lose a leg.  To have an automail attachment surgery done, a pain that he has never known the likes of in his life.  And though he could make the argument that, of the two, he has it worse, he unerringly considers it a more than acceptable tradeoff to being Edward Elric’s soulmate.  Equivalent exchange, or something like that.

But it truly is an honor, Roy thinks sometimes, that the universe has taken a look at all its inhabitants and decided in whatever way it does that Roy Mustang is best suited to Edward Elric.  Sometimes he doesn’t believe it, wonders if he should head to Rush Valley and track down someone with a similar automail timeline as Ed’s.

But then Ed walks into his office, agitated and blustering, and Havoc throws a pen at Ed’s head and Roy feels the slightly stinging _thwap_.  No, this is real, and he allows himself a small, fond smile as he watches Ed whirl on Havoc and shriek his displeasure.

…And then he winces as Ed flops down into a chair, crossing his legs.  Roy suspects that Ed must have a permanent bruise on his shin from the automail leg and the way he crosses them.

“What d’you want?”

Roy only raises one eyebrow at Ed, looking utterly unperturbed.  “You’re the one who stormed into my office like you’ve started another fire.”

Ed scoffs, and Roy smirks.

He can’t know.  Eighteen, Roy has promised himself.  When Ed turns eighteen.  Then, if Ed seems ready, he’ll tell him.

—

He wavers, before Briggs, when they meet in the car.  Surely Ed must know, after Lust, after what has to have been some of the most agonizing pain of his life (of their lives).  Roy can see the scowl, even, as Ed shifts around uncomfortably in Roy’s passenger seat, undoubtedly sharing the same discomfort of the healing burn in Roy’s side.  But he makes no indication, only gives one of those speeches that he thinks are only half inspiring as they truly are, and Roy listens, heart breaking a little more at each word.

Ed says nothing of the two of them, not like that, and Roy lets him go.

He thinks of him, of course, with the little aches and pains that come from having automail, with the… whatever trouble Ed is getting into that earns him smacks and blows, or the awful pained numbness that comes with it getting too damn _cold._ But he deals, and he continues, even without his team, working himself half to death—though doing his best to keep Ed from taking the brunt of it.

And one day, when he’s lounging at his mother’s brothel with Melody, one of his mother’s workers and a loyal friend, chatting her up, a screaming pain rips through his gut.

White rushes through his vision for several moments before he comes slightly more to his senses, realizing that he’s lying on the ground, mostly insensate.  The pain hasn’t lessened, as many injuries do after the initial shock; it’s worsened noticeably.

“ _Ed_ ,” Roy chokes out, trying to push himself into a sitting position, but his own shaking arms and Melody’s gentle hands on his shoulder preclude that very quickly.  He lies back, panting, staring at the ceiling with wide eyes.

“What’s going on?” Melody asks, voice urgent, eyes flicking over him in a muted panic, though she doesn’t let it show anywhere else.  “Roy?  Are you all right?”

“It’s…”  Roy groans, eyes closing as another wave of pain courses through him.  “He’s hurt.  Ed’s—he’s in trouble, I have to—“  He takes a gasping breath, trying to focus.  If he leaves now, he can make it to Briggs in—

“You’re not going anywhere.”  Melody pushes him back down.  “You told me yourself.  He’s days of travel away, and who knows where he is now.”

Roy _screams_ , and she jumps back in alarm, Roy’s nails digging into the ground beside him.  Soulmate bonds don’t transmit emotional pain, just physical, so why does it feel like his soul is being sucked away?  Is Ed—is this what it feels like to lose a soulmate?

But it’s something different than that, he thinks—he hopes—around the haze of pain swamping him again.  It’s his life force, his being—

What the hell is Ed _doing?_

He tries to stand again, to make his way to the nearest train station and order them to depart north immediately, but Melody’s hands grab his shoulders again, pushing him back down.

This time, when the white takes him, he doesn’t come back.

—

It takes stern speeches from both his mother and Melody to prevent Roy from leaping out of his bed and going after Ed immediately.  He’ll already have left Briggs, they tell him, if he’s hurt that badly, and from what you’ve told us, you’ll never find him.  He has to begrudgingly admit that they have a point

Still, he clings to the twinges and sometimes agonizing jolts of pain that shoot through his uninjured gut like a dying man, clutching to the knowledge that Ed is still alive.

He busies himself, then.  He has to.  If he doesn’t, he finds himself spiraling into doubt, into worry, into a frantic helplessness that does _not_ suit the future leader of a country.  Damn Edward Elric, for turning Roy into this.  It takes a coup of a country to distract him, and sometimes even that doesn’t work.

One evening, he finds himself turning a pen over in his fingers, the sharp nib gleaming in the rays of the setting sun.  He traces it against his palm, at first, then presses it into the base of his hand.  Not hard enough to draw blood, or even hurt too much, but enough to stop his mind from wandering.  To draw him to the present.  To—

_ Don’t forget me. _

A sharp stinging sensation spreads across the back of the hand in question, as if someone has just smacked his hand away.  He can practically hear the voice: _fuckin’ stop that, you asshole!_

Roy smiles wryly, pulling the pen away, reaching out to set it on the table.  Ed will be fine.  He always is.  It’s himself Roy is worried about.

—

Roy gets the news from one of his scouts of a sighting outside the city.

He almost doesn’t believe it, not at first.  Ed’s timing is too fortuitous.  Too fortunate.  But then, so is his own, he supposes.

He has his people keep an eye out, hovers over every report as he holds his breath.  Traces what he can and fervently hopes over what he can’t.  He’s waited months.  He can wait a little longer.

And even amongst everything—the plots, the fighting, the chaos—Roy finds time.  He finds Edward.  He does it in the most melodramatic way possible, of course, but how else is he supposed to impress him, after everything he must have seen in his time away?

“Maybe I can lend you a hand, Fullmetal.”

Roy downright relishes the shifting expressions that flicker across Ed’s face: relief, exasperation, hope, resignation, and, for a moment, pure joy.  Roy can’t let him down now, can’t back down after making such a firm promise, a declaration in the guise of a jest.

And it isn’t hard to assess the situation either, he mulls, as he watches Ed’s heaving back.  God, he’s missed it, the tight muscle underneath those clothes, the tension as Ed tries to determine his next course of action.  And he doesn’t miss the conflict, either, the struggle between the need to preserve life and the need to survive.

So he makes the decision without hesitation.  He always will, when Ed is involved.  Roy has already tainted himself.  He can do it a little more to stop the same from happening to Ed, and as the flames rush around them, illuminating Ed’s horrified face, the only regret he has is that Ed can see Roy for who he truly is.

Something in him waits for the rejection, even as he defends his actions.  Enemies.  No other choice.  The words ring hollow to his ears, and he can only imagine what they sound like to Ed’s—

And Ed nods, tired but accepting, watching Roy with a muted desperation that Roy doesn’t know how to identify.

Idly, Roy notices the brief pain of a spark singeing through his jacket.  He barely reacts, used to such inconveniences, but Ed flinches backwards, covering his arm.

Roy turns to watch him, a tight sensation in his throat.  Ed only stands there.  Watching back.  Roy lifts his arm, glancing at the hole in the fabric.  He’d repair it later.

“I appear to have burned my arm,” he says, voice neutral, expression impassive.

Ed’s, however, shifts from confusion to realization to shock almost too quickly for Roy to process it.

But he doesn’t pull away, not when Roy reaches for him, not when he takes Ed’s wrist and tugs him in.  Ed gapes at Roy’s gloved hand and shivers.  Roy—Roy knows it’s stupid, but he reaches over to pull it off, just for a few moments, and cups Ed’s face, watching him, searching.

Ed initiates the kiss.

Roy has had plenty of lovers in his time.  He very much suspects, given Ed’s kissing abilities, that Ed is precisely the opposite.  Still, as clumsy, warm lips fit over his, as teeth clack just a bit in eagerness before Roy manages to coax Ed into exerting the proper amount of pressure, Roy has never had anything better.

Nor has he, despite being Edward Elric’s soulmate, even imagined that this might be possible.  That Ed’s hands fingers would be burying themselves in his hair, that Roy’s tongue would be slipping inside Ed’s mouth, tasting him the way he had wanted to for an unfairly long amount of time.  That he could hold Ed against him, flush and warm, cradling the back of his head with a tenderness that Ed allowed from few, if any people.

Except Roy.

A throat cleared from beside them, and Ed leaped back, panting.  His eyes cast about and landed on Riza, and he promptly turned the color of his coat.

“If we can continue,” she says neutrally, eyeing Roy out of the corner of her eye.  In his defense, he had told her that he had been _planning_ to wait.  But sometimes these things just… happen.

“Yeah,” Ed croaks out, at the same time as Roy’s “indeed.”  But as they turn away, heading forward, Ed’s left hand darts out to give Roy’s a squeeze.

It hurts, just a little, but seeing the way that Ed’s shoulders relax when it does…

Well, it’s more than worth it.


End file.
